Sticks, Stones and Stereotypes: Words Hurt When They Carry Stigma

The first time I felt the shame of stigma, I was an anxiety-ridden 3rd grader.

I was confused and on the brink of tears in math class. My teacher was too distracted to recognize that I was struggling to keep up, and though I knew I should ask for help, I was timid. The last time I had raised my hand to seek special attention he made it clear that I should study more and get help elsewhere. Fearing further embarrassment, I kept quiet and sat still, hoping he wouldn’t notice that I wasn’t making any progress. No such luck. He stopped at my desk after complementing the genius of the boy sitting next to me and after a few moments he said simply, “I should have known.” The emotional dam I had cultivated to keep the tears from flowing finally broke, and I wept. My tears did nothing but further irritate him, and adding the final blow he said, “Your parents can’t help you and they’re too poor to pay the tutor, so I guess you’re my problem, is that it?”

Looking back with adult eyes it’s clear that this interaction was damaging in many ways, yet recalling the emotions of the moment resurfaces the sting of what had the most enduring impact. It was the condescension of being labelled “poor”.

If the injury was being made to feel intellectually inept, the insult was the sweeping dismissal of the powerful nuances of my family ties, the bonds that made us feel anything but “poor”. In fact, up until that moment, I had never once considered that term applicable to my circumstances. While we struggled with financial instability, my parents were dedicated, loving, creative and fiercely protective. My family was my source of safety, inspiration and pride. Being labelled “poor” stripped us of our uniqueness and reduced my strengths and weaknesses to a composite that didn’t reflect who I was or who I could become. Never had I considered poverty a defining characteristic, but that changed that day and for years I struggled with the emotional aftermath of realizing that others may view me as “less than”. Those feelings presented as anger, but they masked the pain of insecurity that I battled into adulthood.

In my role at Monarch School, I am often reminded that the words we use to describe our students become their identity, and this intuitive awareness is supported by research. In a thesis study issued by Western Kentucky University, negative labeling of students within their educational environment was correlated to a 20% decrease in academic achievement and lowered self-esteem among the sample population.

When we use social conditions to describe human beings, we rob them of their individuality and deny the validity of their distinct experiences. When we replace one’s singular gifts with a set of stereotypes, we limit potential and resilience. It’s clear that this approach to categorizing people by their circumstances is immeasurably damaging for children. That is why when we refer to an individual as “homeless” we infer that their housing situation defines their character, attributes, and value to society. When we are labelled by a condition, we are no longer free to develop our unique selves but are instead forced to fight against the stigma that the condition brings with it.

This is the primary reason that we at Monarch School reject the term “homeless” to describe our students and their families. Above all else, students who are managing the sustained trauma of housing instability need and deserve the opportunity to understand their own talents and pursue them as a pathway toward healing and stability. If we hope to inspire our youth to dream big and exceed their own expectations, we must start by making space for them to envision their futures, free from the roles we inadvertently assign them with the application of labels.

So, what’s the difference between referring to a person as “unhoused” rather than “homeless”? Ask yourself this simple question, what image does the word “homeless” conjure in your mind when you hear it? If you can immediately call forward a picture of what “homeless” means to you, you’ve answered the question for yourself. This is because the term has, over time, been coopted by popular culture, social systems, and marketing imagery to facilitate a placeholder in our psyche that has become the common concept of what it looks like to survive without a home. We may know intellectually that this is a false narrative, but it exists nonetheless, and it brings with it a crippling set of arbitrary boundaries that poison the well of possibility that all children are born to explore within themselves.

The term “unhoused” connotes a very different reality. It separates the person from the problems they face and reframes the condition as a temporary situation rather than a life sentence. In this way, we accept the present challenges for what they are and leave room for the human at the center of the experience to leverage their talents, set goals and achieve a self-fulfilled life.

If our goal as social care providers and educators is to cultivate each child’s individual skills, let’s start by removing the barriers that come with stigma and use terms that protect the dignity and emotional safety of the kids in our care. Afterall, there are insecure kids in classrooms across the nation attempting to hide in plain sight just like I did. Let’s do right by them. Let’s tell them the positive things they need to hear about their capacity and let labels be a thing of the past.

Reference
Schartung, Jessie, "Examining the Influence of Negative Labeling on Educational Aspirations" (2015). Masters Theses & Specialist Projects. Paper 1521. http://digitalcommons.wku.edu/theses/1521